Guilty By Association
by Rhapsody81
Summary: Chapter 5 is up. This is the story formally titled 'Just Deserts'. It has been revamped a little because the direction has changed. It is still proudly a RO/LO!! I hope you enjoy the read. Rating subject to change. R&R please, It is appreciated.
1. Decision Making

Title:       Just Deserts

Rating:   R (Few Curse words- rating for possible future purposes)

Disclaimer: No money is being made. Most of these characters aren't mine. You can tell which ones are. 

Chapter 1: Decision Making

"So you're gonna go through with it?" he asked as he eyed his girlfriend of almost a year. Watching her movements have become a hobby of his, bordering past obsessive. She sat next to him on their jade green sofa that sat on the hunter green sofa of the wooden floor of their apartment at the base of the upper west side of Manhattan.

"Yes, I have decided that I will, I will meet with him and hear him out." She said looking into her hands that folded themselves on the thighs of her bent legs on the sofa. "It is something that I must do. I must know."

"Do you even know who this person, this Charles Xavier is? The private detective didn't tell you jack shit about this man and why he would want to get in contact with you. The word 'Urgent' is no reason to jump at the beckon-call of a stranger"

"_I do it for you_," she thought but dared not say it aloud. "He has told me enough, all I needed to know anyway."

"And what if it's complete bullshit?" She had thought about that, but to soothe her mind she didn't dwell on it and decided to accentuate the positive. 

"Well then, the only thing that I have lost is time. What are you so afraid of, this concerns me not you?" she regretted the words the moment they emerged. She was unsure as to what action they would invoke.

**" You are my concern, damn it!"** His voice was hard as if he was prepared to strike, which was just an inkling of the possibilities of actions to come. "Look, I just don't want to see you hurt or for you to get your hopes up and watch them get crushed."

She released a sigh of breath she consciously held relieved at his adjusted tone. "Aw, don't worry lover. I'll be fine." This time she spoke the words looking into his face. He hand soothed the side of his face and he leaned into it. 

Her compassionate eyes suggested gullibility to him. Her brilliant smile was naivety. Her innocent looks, is what attracted him to her. It was the way her honey- light auburn hair laid in layers about her face and down her back. It was the way her hazel irises exuded her emotion. When she was sad, they were cloudy and when she was happy they were as clear as a divinely constructed day. When he looked at her, he saw a little girl that needed to be cultivated. If he ever listened, in her voice he would have heard a woman who was already had her childhood. But her 22 years made her a child to his 26. 

"I'm going with you." His declaration took her by surprise.

"That's not necessary. I will be fine on my own." She believed her own words but knew he would careless as to what she said. _"He is taking this father figure role too seriously now. I'll play along for a bit longer, but soon this shit has got to stop,"_ It calmed her knowing the inner voice was right. 

"I said I was going with you, and that's that." His words were spoken as his grip on her left wrist tightened. He knew that was the hand that she depended the most on. She ate, wrote, and drew, amongst other things with her left hand. It would stifle her productivity if she were to ever seriously injure her left hand or wrist.

"Love, that's really not necessary," she said trying to ease herself out of his grasp and to convince herself his is what she wanted. "It is just din…"

"You know I hate when you go against me, you know what happens." Now things were going a little too far.

Things just went in a direction she tried to avoid.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a clear night on that particular summer day. Stars would have made a beautiful sight in the city sky if it were possible. No amount of streetlights or neon lights or store lights could create the luminosity of the stars.  

She stood outside of Ruby Foo's on 49th and Broadway, delaying what could be the most important night of her life. _"No backing out now,"_ she told herself. About to step inside, she thought about her appearance. Taking the compact mirror from her purse, she opened it and almost didn't recognize her own face. _"How the hell did he scratch me? That sonovabitch actually scratched me.  I am  glad  he was called away on business. I would've had to kill him._" Her internal monologue ceased as she adjusted her honey hair to cover an emerging black and blue mark by her right eye. "_Stupid girl_", she said aloud to her reflection. Prepared, she walked in was directed to a table where the man she spoke to over the phone sat in a wheelchair. 

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. Xavier." She said extending her hand in a polite gesture.

"Please call me Charles."

"Well then, Charles, I would be honored if you would call me Grace.  

"Grace it is. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," she returned with a smile. It seemed being in his presence had a calming effect on her and she imagined he must had on most people. But then again, not everyone is as they seemed and she knew that.

"No, I should be thanking you for agreeing to meet with me."

"Well, it sounded important and almost urgent."

The waiter came and gone and returned with their drinks. In the minutes it took for that transaction an uncomfortable silence fell over the two. She wanted to know why he had contacted her.

"I suppose I should get the point."

"It is as if you almost read my mind."

"Yes, well, that is not the first time I have been told that." She enjoyed his humor. "My dear, what do you recall of your childhood?"

"What does that have to do with our meeting?"

"I promise you it is relevant."

"Well, I was born in Egypt and almost immediately adopted by an American at the time of my birth.

"I am sorry, I meant what do you know of your birth parents?"

"Nothing really. My father never gives me a straight answer on why he was even in Egypt then." 

"Hmm," he did his trademark thinking pose, "Well the reason that I contacted you was because years ago I hired a detective to do a little research on a very good friend of mine. You, see," he said while clasping his hands in his lap, "my friend lost her parents at a very young age and she had no living relatives that she knew of, that anyone knew of. Until now that is. I am very certain that you and my friend are related."

The blood drained from her body and her goose bumps became visible. "How… How can you be certain of this?" She stumbled through her words unsure if what to say and how to react. He pulled from his breast pocket of his blue blazer jacket a picture that he handed to her. She stopped breathing as she looked. The woman was breathtaking, but she didn't see what he must see.

"Wow, she's gorgeous. But I don't she a resemblance. Anyone that beautiful is not a relative of mine." Her voice was disbelieving even to his ears.

"It is true that the obvious things, like the hair and eye color are very different but your facial structure and shy smile, they are the same." She attempted a smile but it was diluted by some new emotion that just developed itself. 

"How is this possible? If her parents died when she was young, then how is it possible that she and I are related?"

"If she was to tell you the story herself, she'd tell you that when she was five years old the hotel she stayed at with her family was bombed, killing her father instantly and her mother eventually. She escaped the rubble and lived on the streets in Egypt. According to my contact, two days after the hotel collapsed a young woman was found. She was clinging to whatever life was left in her body, but she was unconscious. The doctors did not have proper identification of her and was debating whether or not to keep her on life support, but then it was discovered that she was pregnant. Four months along to be exact. It had to have been a miracle that she did not loose the child due to trauma. She remained unconscious but the doctors kept her body alive long enough to deliver the child."

He went on and on about the details, but she stopped listening at some point and tuned in and out of the conversation when words like 'bombed' and 'miracle' came up. 

"Have you spoken to… I'm sorry but what is her name?"

"Please, forgive me. Her name is Ororo Munroe. And no, I have not spoken to her yet. She is like a daughter to me and I want nothing but to make her happy. She means the world to me and if this did not pan out… well, I just didn't want her hopes raised and then crushed."

"I suppose I can understand that, but this is a bit much. I have a few questions though."

"Well, ask what you will and I will do my best to answer them to the best of my knowledge."

"Thank you."         

Tbc…

A/N: Well, that's the end of chapter 1. Wondering if I should really continue. If you've gotten this far then that means you've actually read this, so I hope you take the time to review it. Thanks.  


	2. Breaking It Down

**Chapter 2: Breaking It Down**

By: Rhapsody

Leaving the restaurant by 10pm, Grace declined a ride home from Professor Xavier. Space, she definitely needed space. The words, his words were manifesting with her dominant thoughts. The tale of possibly having a sister was hard to swallow, but looking into Charles's eyes made anything possible.

Grace was headed for the train station that was only a block away from the restaurant. She could very well have walked home, but for the time it took her to walk the 12 street blocks home she would have driven herself crazy with all the new information.

The boisterous sound of wheels along tracks signaled that she just missed her train, so she didn't have to rush to find her Metro-Card. If she was lucky, it still had enough for the ride home and wouldn't have to purchase another.

Waiting for the 1 train, Grace stepped as close to the edge as she could without falling on the track and suffering the third rail singe. Being she was on the uptown side of the track she looked down the direction the train would come from, the downtown side. All she could see is the light of the previous station and an occasional rodent.

_"What am I suppose to do?"_ her patience was wearing thin and her mind was reeling. 

The train came and was crowded with people who obviously got on at Time Square. Their 'Rent", "The Lion King', and 'Annie Got Your Gun' programs, the Gap and Toys 'R Us bags, the people with brown paper bags labeled Midtown Comics and the teens with the Barcode arcade cards were a dead give away. Leaning back against the doors, she held onto the metallic safety bar, not for safety but out of habit because it was there. Looking into the bar, she could see a construed version herself and she frowned. 

_"I have a family. How do I tell daddy? Did he know that I had a sister? What will this do to me?"_ she was so lost in that thought and almost missed the conductor say**_, "Next stop, 66th street."_** That was her stop, but knowing that didn't stop her internal arguing. 

_"You've got to be kidding me! Daddy had to know if they had other children before me. They were his friends.  At least that's what he said. But I don't need this! But I've already given him, Charles, my decision."_

The arguing carried her all the way to her apartment and she didn't notice until she reached for the key in the lock.

**"Where the hell have you been?"** She was greeting by her wannabe sadist of a boyfriend. **"You should have been back hours ago."**

"Please, just leave me alone. I'm tired and want to go to bed."

"I guess she don't want to play tonight." If it was more than an act between them he would have been fuming at her impertinence and refusal to answer him to his liking.

***

When Charles exited the Restaurant, there was a car already waiting for him. He offered Grace a ride but she kindly refused. There was so much that he saw in her that reminded him of Ororo, but there were some major differences.

He sat in the bad of the Lincoln in his usual pensive scowl. Every now and then during dinner, he caught a stray thought from Grace. "Such pain and confusion. Perhaps this will heal them both," he thought. 

He had known Ororo since she was a child-thief and from the conversation he had with her, he always felt an empty part of her grasping from something that she knew would never be. She would never have her childhood back the way it was. Her parents were lost to her and with them ended the connection of any possible family relations, short if her having her own family. 

She had tried to connect with Forge in that way, but it ended badly. Their off and on relationship made the edges of her loneliness jagged and it almost seemed irreparable. Unknown to her there has always been someone in the shadows watching, her protector in a sense. 

***

Back at the mansion…

"Hey 'Ro. What's doin' darlin'?

"Nothing, just thinking."

"Thinkin'? Ain't that dangerous in front of the large screen TV that you don't have a habit of watching?" He reclined in the leather easy-boy seat he staked a claim on.

"I do watch television occasionally."

"Yeah, the news maybe. But that's it. What? Ya felt ya needed a 'Lifetime' movie moment?"

An honest melodious laughter came from deep in her chest. It was good to his ears and soul to hear her laugh.

"What'cha thinkin' 'bout?" he sad as he popped the top to his Canadian brew

"Charles, actually."

"Yeah, Chucks been a little hush, hush lately. But I don't think it's anything ta be worried 'bout."

"I suppose, but I just feel a little uneasy about it. I do hope that it is not serious, whatever it is."

***

"How do I break this to Ororo?"

Tbc…

A/N: so, do ya like it or what? I really want to know what everyone thinks. It is important to me. If you want to flame me, bring it on! Just be constructive about it. What would you like to see? I'm open for suggestions.  


	3. Hellos and Goodbyes

Chapter 3: Hellos and Goodbyes 

The two-hour drive from the city to the mansion went by quickly and before he knew it Charles was back at the mansion and still not an answer to his question of how to tell Ororo.

Entering the mansion, he sensed the silence. Many were asleep and a few of the others were probably out, but he heard laughter coming from the TV room. Per haps going to say goodnight was what he meant to do, but to walk in on a private moment was not.

Like unsupervised teenagers, they sat very close to each other, so close their lips touched with the faintest whisper and that turned into a screaming kiss. The sound of their lips was louder than any words. He wouldn't dare disturb such a conversation. He wouldn't disturb the conversation that everyone was waiting for, especially them.

"_I'll go on, there is always tom…_" 

"Hey there, Chuck." 

"_Logan's senses are as keen as ever_."

"Oh, dear. Professor…um, Charles, that was not what…" Logan was enjoying seeing Ororo flustered, even Charles had to hide his amusement. 

"Like hell it was, darlin'."

"No need to apologize, Ororo. From where I sit, my dear, it was very much about time." He managed a smile for her ease. 

"Good night, Ororo. You too, Logan."

"Night, Chuck."

"Goodnight, Professor."

They watched him go off to his study. _Does that man ever sleep_? She thought. When she turned back to face Logan, he was staring intently at her. 

"Is there something on me that fascinate you?"

"There's a lot on ya that interests me. Be specific."

She was used to the sexual banter that both he and Remy usually dished out, but now that things were different, it was not mere banter. There held much truth in his voice and possible courses of action.

"Come with me"

"What?"

"You do not play deaf well, Logan."

"Where we headed?"

"Do you trust me?" He nodded. "Well, then, it does not matter where I **take** you, just **come** with me." She knew that statement was loaded with innuendo, but if the night was headed where she thought it was, then the words rang truth.

***

_"I have a sister. But how the hell is that possible?"_  The knock at the door disturbed her thoughts.

"Hey, I bought you some tea. I figured you weren't in a mood to play again." 

"I wasn't playing then. You called that playing the first time?" 

"Sorry, I was upset, mad. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Yeah, well, whatever. We need to stop this little sick game of ours."

"It was of your invention. You wanted it. I used to wonder why, but then the wannabe self psychologist in me figured I was compensation for something in your life. Maybe it's something that your daddy never did for ya."

"Now, you're crossing the line." No one ever spoke a word against the man she had called father since she could speak. 

"What did I hit a nerve?" He knew he had.

"Keep it up and I'll be hitting you." She had quite a temper, but she never fought unless she had to. Why would she ever need to fit, she had the world. 

"Temper, temper, kiddo! I wonder, what happened to make you such a hard ass?"

"Well that is something you'll never find out. Just get out!"

"Wha?"

"Get out of my damn apartment!"

"Yeah, fine, whatever!" 

She watched him pack his shit and take off. It's not like she was in love with him. She didn't love him. He was just a temporary notch in her bedpost. Grace didn't have many, but all the ones that were there she could've done without because it was never about love. It was never really about sex either; she could take or leave it. It's not like she ever had that ever-powerful orgasm some women rant and rave about. Well, maybe she had, but that was long ago, with her first love. After her first love didn't work out, she figured maybe she wasn't capable of love. Her father loved her but something about his love was never right about the way he loved her.

***

tbc… 


	4. Acting Out

Title: Guilty By Association 

Author: Rhapsody

Rating: R

**Chapter 4: Acting Out**

Logan had been to the attic loft many times and he has had many a dreams with Ororo as the star, but no dream could come close to the things she was doing. He had been half dressed to no dressed in front of her before but never had he thought on a thousand years that he'd be the center piece of her room. On the floor laid a quilt made of real Kente cloth, not the stuff manufactured in Europe to look African and then is sold to and by Africans as authentic. It was a keepsake from her days and journey of the past, a gift, the size of a queen size bed. He was happy to be let in on such a gift, but there he was laying on it shirtless and on his stomach and straddling him was a woman that encompassed femininity, companionship, eroticism, friendship, and all those things that can't be put into words.

Her knee length royal blue skirt made it's way to the top of her toned thighs, that were gripped the side of his hips as she straddled his backside. "_Dear god, woman_" He thought it so loudly he almost figured her for a telepath because her hands started to do work on his lower back. She was doing things never done before. He had other women, very few he loved. They had the opportunity to do this, but those one-night chicks were the fuck 'em and leave 'em. It's what they wanted and just so suited his purposes. All knew Logan was no saint, honorable, but no saint. 

Ororo noticed his pensive look and allowed her hands to do part of the speaking for her. They traveled upward slowly, up his spine between and around his vertebrae, to his neck where his baby hairs were silky half curls and slowly into his unruly hair and then she popped him right on his cranium.

"Damn, 'Ro! What's that for?" he said turning over under her. He looked like an egg, sunny side up. He gripped her hands at her hips. Her palms were flat on her thighs and his hands trapped her wrists to her hips. The same hips he watched on a number of occasions. It was the same hips he watched in spandex uniforms, the same he watched on X-men nights out. 

"You were thinking. This is not a brain-buster. You are to enjoy this." 

'**_Damn those eyes of hers_**.' His eyes traveled the contours of her face. Two eyes that scare and entice, yet inspire, check. A nose, that has does that cute little flarin' thing when mad, check. Well-defined jaw structure, check. Lips. Fuck, those lips. Kissable ain't the only word they scream.

"Now what are you thinking about? You know, Logan. I am not sure that you grasp the concept of this exercise."

"Darlin' I'm sure I do. Also, we are in your room darlin', there's no pretending anymore."

For sometime now they've been together. It just happened one night. He gave up those women that meant nothing to him and ultimately did nothing for him and she realized her body needed more than the tortures of battle and routine simulations. It began out of a mutual need and then progressed further before they had time to really think about what was happening. It was the first time that it could be said that either party did something without really thinking about it. But it was conscious effort to keep it secret. They did their normal daily routines, acting the part. He'd still flirt with Jean but cast sideway glances at her. He'd flirt with Ororo in public, like he always did but for them it was more like Morse code. She still carried a normal semi-antagonistic relationship with Remy. He'd call her that dang name and she'd threaten him with bodily harm. Everything was right the way it should be. Someday, things would change, but for now it was the way they wanted it to be. But there they were, secret lovers and true friends. 

His hands left her hips and traveled and with the barest touch of his finger tips slid up her sides. He knew she was ticklish. With an intake of breath, she corrected her posture, expanded her ribs causing her back to arch and breast to pout. Her knees gripped his sides, eliciting a purr. His arms slipped under her armpit and up her back. His hands resting on her shoulders, he nudged her forward and she willingly obliged meeting him in a kiss and a good idea of where the night was headed.

***

Elsewhere in the 'City That Never Sleeps', there was a woman that couldn't sleep.

In the living room of her one two-bedroom apartment she paced the room. She couldn't sleep and she had been trying since she kicked her boyfriend out for good. He wasn't really anything to her but a sick game. It could never have been love. 

**_"Maybe he had a point, am I trying to fill a void in my life?"   _**

**_"You know damn well you were. You weren't born yesterday so quit whining like a little bitch"_** her inner voices, inner demons like to argue. It was like watching Angel on one shoulder and Devil on the other and her true self, rational thought, was the spectator. 

**"SHUT UP,"** she screamed to all voices in her head good and bad.

She needed another solution. TV didn't work, usually music worked. It was the cure for so much that ailed her. She didn't want to disturb the neighbors so anything loud and heavy was out. Country was a no-no. That last thing she needed was someone whining about their cheating or abusive spouse or lover, who ran over their dog with their Toyota Tacoma and took it to the taxidermist and set it back to them as a gif, you get the point. R&B was out, she didn't need someone taking it to church at the moment. Unless it was Anita Baker but this was not an Anita moment. This called for Ella and Louis, Billie and Dizzy, Charlie and Parker. 

Her favorite Jazz song by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong was 'Summertime'. The same 'Summertime' from "Porgy and Bess" Grace never knew her parents, but her father knew them. So he never spoke an ill word of either of her parents, not that he could. But the song spoke volumes to her. Whenever she was saddened or depressed, she'd put it on. It made her feel like she had her parents with her. But at some point she would remember they were dead and she never knew them anyway, so she was just being silly.

Did the song help tonight? No. She was madder and madder with each moment that passed. She started to pace again, trying to ignore the emerging voices. Then she spotted the one avenue she didn't explore. Her art pad that was collecting dust and or used as a coaster for drinks and such, was like neon lights to 42nd Street. There was always a pen or pencil somewhere, the first thing she found is what she usually used when she was feeling inspired. Inspiration was neither in the form of pen or pencil, but in the form of Olive Green by Crayola. 

She began furiously creating shape after shape until it formed something. What was it supposed to be, she didn't know, but she never forced her creations, just let it flow. Ovals, to stray lines, Abstract to definition, and then to top it off, shading and she was done. She stared at it. She drew her a portrait of herself and when her eyes did the coloring, she saw her sister.

**_"Why the hell is this happening to me?"_**

She couldn't stay at home. She crumpled the picture to a tight ball and threw it across the room with the crayon. A quick pace to the bedroom and she threw on her discard Jeans from last weekend. For safe measure she just threw on a sweater over her nightgown. She knew where she was going. It was 2 in the morning. It was best she knew where she was going at that time in the morning.

She grabbed her keys and flew out of her apartment slamming the door behind her. 

She was going home.

When she left, that drawing she crumbled started to unfold itself a little. She'd find it again.

Tbc…


	5. Heart of the House

A/N: I do not own any rights to any Dave Matthews songs, but I can appreciate them through my writing and if that is a crime then I suppose I am guilty. What can I say? I love music. But let this be clear, if anyone were to sue, the only thing that you'd collect is my debt. Enjoy. Please review.

Guilty By Association 5 Heart of the House 

Home is where the heart is and that is where she was headed. Her second home was her all-purpose studio, another gift from daddy because she wanted it. 

It was late or perhaps early in this case but she found herself walking the solemn streets to Central Park West and uptown, about 25 blocks from her apartment. In theory, it could seem like a long walk but she had her thought to comfort her. But it wasn't really comfort. They were the thoughts that would make her pull her knees into her chest, press her palms to her temples and try to wish them away until they fell asleep too. Grace tried to pay attention to anything, the honking of a horn, tires careening over potholes and cracked surfaces, the clink of glasses from people who chose to dine instead of sleep. New York is always a crowded city but nothing, not the bicyclers who come an inch within her life from hitting her, could capture her attention. She reached the apartment building and took a deep breath.

From around his desk, Juan, a 45 year old door man who only worked the place because the rich patrons tipped well, especially around the holidays, ran to the door to offer assistance.

"Thank you, Mr. Gutierres, but you didn't really have to get up"

"You know, Grace. You are still the only one who calls me Mr. Thank you. It is always a pleasure to see you, but why so late? I do not mean to pry, but it has been a while since you visited your studio at this time of the night."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Ah, well. It is good to see you just the same."

"As are you. Good Night."

"Good Night, dear."

She was always raised to be polite to everyone and a certain profession or social status was never to change that. Making her way up the back staircase she went began her trek to the 3rd floor. 

"Uh, Grace, are you sure you don't want an escort upstairs?"

"No thanks, Mr. Gutierres. It is only the third floor. I will manage."

Grace entered her password to the electronic lock and entered her sanctuary. Like her sister, she needed a place just to be, a calming place to regain her composure from time to time. He studio was just that. It was an all-purpose studio. Depending on how she cleaned it, it could be an art studio, dance studio, gymnast space, or a shrine. The three-room space was collaged with the pictures of her parents both dead and alive. A few kodak childhood moments were captured here and there about the main room but she mostly paid homage to the parents of past of present.

She flopped in the beanbag sofa she made herself years ago for a class project and took two random pictures in her hand. She looked at The Munroe's as she had done many times. Then, she looked at The Sexton's. There was something, some connection between the two couples that she saw as if it was never there before. Like some monkey on her back just slapped her upside the head, but the meaning was unclear.   

She released the pictures with a flick of her wrist, not watching where they filtered. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and fell asleep to the sounds of concrete nightlife. 

***

**_~ Spoon and Spoon_**

**_Stirring my coffee_**

**_I thought of you_**

**_And turned to the gate…~_**

There they laid, her ebony back to his ivory chest, while Dave Matthews, Spoon, softly hummed in the background of their breathing. His bulky arm was dead weight over her midsection. Exhaling heavy breaths, she drifted her hand up his forearm lazily.

**_~And on my way_**

Crack lightning 

**_And then thunder_**

**_I hid my head_**

**_And the storm slipped away…~_**

"I hate to conclude a most peaceful moment but…"

"You're kicking my ass to the curb."

"No, not so crudely. Just allowing you enough time to make haste to your room without arousing suspicion."

"Why is it you always put shit so damn…"

"Nicely?" she snickered allowing him to feel her vibrations. "I suppose I have a way with words."

"Yeah, darlin' ya do!" He stated as fact as he made his way to the front of the bed to start gathering his clothes and putting them on. 

_"Boxers, check. Pants, check. Socks and shoes, check. Shirt? Where the hell is my shirt?" He thought._

**_~Well maybe I'm crazy_**

But laughing out loud make it all pass by 

**_And maybe you're a little crazy _**

To laugh it out loud to make it alright…~ 

"Woman, what have you done with my shirt?"

"I dunno!" she said claiming innocence will sitting up in bed.

Logan climbed on the bed making his way towards her grasping various body parts on his assent. 

"Logan, No. Please, do not. That tickles."

"'Ro, where's my shirt?"

She remained tight lipped.

"Fine. I'll just have to tickle it outta ya."

"Logan, Ha, ha, ha. Please stop." 

"Give me what I want and I'll give you what you want."

Realizing through her joyful tears she was trying to say something, he held his hands still on her midsection.

"But…but I thought I already gave you what you wanted." 

"That does it, Smart ass!" He commenced with the tickling.

"It's there!"

"What was that!"

"You heard me very well, you faker. If you had actually bothered to look for the shirt you would have seen that it was on the back of the chair."

"Hardy har, har, Goddess."

Seconds later he was fully dressed.

"Get some sleep, Witch." He said placing his lips to her forehead.

"You are one to talk, Brute."

"Yeah, yeah, I dig ya too!" Logan headed towards the door but his mind was soul was still wrapped around her. He wanted there to be a time when sneaking wasn't a necessity. 

**_~From time to time_**

**_Minutes and hours_**

**_Some move ahead_**

While some lag behind 

**_It's like a balloon that rise and then vanish_**

**_This drop of hope falls from his eyes~_**

"Until the morning." She threw back at him.

"Morning? Lady, you wore me out."

"Impossible, surely by now your healing factor has regenerated itself." 

"We could stand here complimenting each other for hour, but we wanna keep this thing between us, I better go, Darlin'."

"One more kiss for the road?"

"Sure thing, 'Ro."

After 10 minutes of dueling tongues he was off and running. She locked the door after his departure and glanced at her disheveled room.

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow," she repeated to herself and climbed back into bed and left the song on repeat until 

the CD was worn and scratched. She'd get another.

***

The light shown brightly through the spacious windows waking Grace instantly, her eyes were red with exhaustion. Her exhaustion was a culmination of too much thinking. As if she could honestly get around it. There was way too much going on at the moment. A man appears out of nowhere one day and turns her world topsy-turvy with insinuations that may prove themselves true. How could she not think about it?

_"I came here to calm myself. So self, it's time to get calm." She stood where she was and lightly bounced vertically. _

"Ah, first, I need music. Davy-boy, you'll do fine." She'd been to at least four Dave Matthews concerts since she was 17 and became obviously an avid fan.

Then it started, the instrumental string to Two-Step and she had to turn it up a notch higher than should be in the morning. It was enough to inspire her to dance. She kicked her beanbag chair to a corner and she started to move tumultuously throughout her space choreographing her body to his words. Together they complimented each other. It was too bad no one ever had the chance to see such a combination.

By the end of the song, nothing was truly resolved. Grace was just sweaty, out of breath, and knew she would be sore the next day. She needed answers and since he seemed to have them, why not go straight to the source of her confusion.

***

The day began for the inhabitants of the X-mansion as well. They all went about their usual morning fervor except for Remy who had his ass dragged out of bed by Ororo and forced to run with her. Down the hall, the same was being done to Jubilee by Logan.

The first mile was spent with Logan's hand clasped around Jubes wrist pulling her along like a rag doll. Ororo had her own problems with Remy. She was literally pushed him along. It's not as if he was seriously injured, he was just disturbed from sleeping after a late night on the town trying to forget his troubles.

"Chere, why you so cruel? C'mon Petite. Remy had a late night again. I need t' sleep it off, oui?"

"Non." She spoke just as calmly.

"Aw, c'mon Stormy, you of all people know 'bout late nights!"

That comment stopped her in her tracks and Wolvie's ears perked up a bit.

"Remy Etienne Le Beau, what did you mean by that?" She asked throwing a glance at Logan.

"Oh nothing, Chere." He grinned.

"You know, Cajun." Wolverine piped in.

"Know what?" Jubilee felt like the only one left out of the loop.

"Yup, he knows what and you know what I'm talkin' 'bout, boy!"

"He knows what?" Jubilee chimed in finally awake and in full speed to keep up.

"Remy Le Beau, you know exactly what is meant."

"Chere, Gambit not know anyt'ing at all." He said flashing that devilish grin again. The one she knew all too well.

"He knows what? That you guys are totally an item?"

Jubilee knew she hit the nail on the head when they all stared back at her slack jawed and motionless.

"What? I'm almost 18 without a life of my own, I have a right to know what's going on in everyone elses."

Wolverine was proud of Jubilee. She had finally learned to be more observant but why did she choose now?

Some time after 5 miles Gambit and Jubilee cut their run short in favor of breakfast and more sleep. Ororo and Logan veered off path and opted for an alternative route, a more scenic route, one with many trees and heavily wooded area that would shield them from nosy eyes.

"I thought we were to work out, Mr. Logan?"

"Yeah, Ms. Munroe, we'll be workin' up a sweat I guarantee."

"Catch me first." Ororo jetted through the brush, relishing her lead."

"'Ro, why are ya makin' me chase ya?"

"It is all part of the workout, Logan. No pain, no gain."

***

Tbc… 


End file.
